Lysida•
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWk2FkD85sx
The large doors of the lecture hall opening drags my attention back to the noisy class, and away from the checkers game I was finally winning.
The lecturer, Professor Gretel, strides in, looking good in her tailored blazer. She places her leather satchel on the desk with a not-so grateful thud, immediately silencing the room.
No greeting, no smile. Instead, she uncaps her marker and writes two words on the board:
FOLK201: LYCANTHROPY.
"Class" Her voice cuts through like a whip. "We enter today's discourse with one of mythology's most enigmatic phenomena — the transformation of man into beast. The werewolf. A creature drenched in folklore, superstition, and psychological inquiry."
Finally. My drug is here.
"Now" Professor Gretel continues, her gaze sweeping the room, "before we descend into the labyrinth of legend, I pose a question: What defines a werewolf?"
The room stirs, interested. A guy in the second row clears his throat. "A person who turns into a wolf"
Professor Gretel's smile is thin, almost pitying.
Poor chap.
"Insufficient" she replies. "That definition is reductionist at best. Transformation alone does not define the werewolf. No. It is the nature of that transformation that distinguishes the lycanthrope. The distortion of identity. The desecration of the self."
She steps closer to the class, cat heels tapping sharply against the floor.
"Werewolves" she continues, frowning "are not simply men who become wolves. They are men who are consumed by their primal instincts — rendered subhuman by an affliction that merges cognition with carnality. A true werewolf is not merely transformed; they are corrupted."
My pen freezes over my notebook. I am completely hooked.
"And what" She asks, her gaze sharp, "do you imagine happens to the mind during such a metamorphosis?"
My hand shoots up "Wouldn't they lose their rationality?"
"Perhaps," Professor Gretel concedes. "But consider this. The most potent werewolf legends speak not of mindless beasts, but of predatory intelligence. The wolf does not simply devour, it stalks. It calculates. The true terror of the werewolf lies not in brute force, but in the unsettling possibility that the mind remains intact — twisted, yes, but still aware."
I consider this, then raise my hand. "I'm just wondering if there are scholarly and scientific studies on this"
"Definitely. Medieval scholars believed lycanthropy to be a symptom of madness — what they called insania lupina. Victims often mimicked lupine behavior — howling at the moon, crawling on all fours, gnashing their teeth at strangers."
She continues "But here's the unsettling part. They weren't always delusional. Some retained full awareness of their actions yet still yielded to their bloodlust. Their minds did not break; they simply surrendered to a darker instinct. Now ask yourselves, what is more terrifying? A mindless beast... or a man who knows exactly what he's doing as he tears you apart?"
The room goes deathly silent with fear. Even the kid in the back row who always sleeps during lectures is wide awake. A soft chuckle escapes my lips.
"Now," Professor Gretel says briskly "who can tell me which substances were believed to either cause or cure lycanthropy?"
A student in the front row responds "I believe it's Silver"
"Silver is a common motif, but not a universal one. Earlier myths suggested that aconitum, commonly known as wolf's bane, held greater potency" Professor Gretel replies "Aconite was believed to either cure lycanthropy... or poison the afflicted so thoroughly that they could no longer maintain their wolfish form."
"Ma'am," I raise my hand again "So if werewolves were real, would medicine actually be able to treat them?"
"An intriguing thought" She smirks faintly "But the werewolf defies the logic of science. It is a creature born of metaphor — a symbol of rage, repression, and primal instinct. To 'treat' a werewolf would require one to cure human nature itself."
"Well," I shrug, sitting back on my chair "if actual wolves can be treated, I'm sure we'd figure something out."
Professor Gretel tilts her head curiously. "And what makes you so certain?"
I think for a bit on what my answer should be, before flashing a small smile. "I have a degree in Veterinary Medicine, Prof. Wolves are tough to treat, yes, but not impossible."
A few students chuckle under their breath.
"Touché" Professor Gretel says, smiling. "Perhaps I underestimated you, Miss...?"
"Lysida" I answer proudly.
"I'll remember that."
Forty minutes later, the lecture ends with Professor Gretel assigning a reading on medieval werewolf rituals.
The minute she leaves the hall, the class erupts with chatter. I am stuffing my laptop and other things into my tote bag when I feel a presence behind me. A whiff of the person's perfume tells me it's Danielle, my course mate and friend.
"Heya" She gives me a brief hug "Looks like I missed my first class of the semester"
"Looks like it" My face contorts with worry "Why couldn't you make it?"
"I could not find my ID" She sighs "Later found it in my damn pocket"
"Welcome to the club"
She laughs "By the way, there's this workshop taking place at the Innovation Lab this evening. Wanna come?"
"Ugh, I'd love to" I say, typing something on my phone. "But my parents are in town, and I'm staying with them for the week."
"Aw, that's sweet. Family time is important."
"Yeah" I say, rolling my eyes. "Until my mom starts asking why I'm still single."
Danielle shakes her head. "Sounds intense."
"You have no idea, babe"
"Well, you enjoy that" she says, shouldering her bag. "Catch you next week?"
"Yeah. Let's go get ice cream, the sun is scorching" I reply as we both head out.
• • • • •
By the time I get to my parents' townhouse in central Geneva, the scent of fried onions and simmering stew has wrapped itself around the air. My stomach growls in response, reminding me that I've spent the entire day surviving on vending machine snacks and ice cream.
"Mum? I'm back" I call out, stepping inside.
"In the kitchen!" her voice sings back.
I head upstairs, quickly swapping my current clothes for a pair of joggers and a loose crop top. After pulling my hair into a messy ponytail, I head to the kitchen. Mum is by the cooker, stirring something that smells heavenly.
"Smells amazing," I lean against the counter. "What's cooking?"
"One of your favorites" she grins, without turning. "Jollof rice and spicy grilled chicken."
Called it.
"Oh, you spoil me, mama" I groan dramatically.
I grab a fork and sneak a bite of chicken straight from the pan.
"Lysida!" she scolds, smacking my hand with a wooden spoon.
"Ow!" I yelp.
We set the table and dig in. The food is as good as ever — smoky, spicy, and perfect, just like I like it. I'm more than halfway through my plate when Mum asks "So, how was school today?"
"Good," I say between bites. "Hectic too. Where's dad?"
"He went to visit a friend"
"Alright. I'm done." I gulp down my glass of water.
"Was that okay? There's still more in the pot"
"No, I'm okay. The food was delicious! Thanks, mama" I give her a kiss on the cheek and clear the table.
As the sun sets, I figure it's time for my jog. I couldn't do it in the morning due to early lectures.
"Mum, I'm heading out for a quick run" I call to her as I tie my sneakers at the front door.
"Be careful," she warns from the living room. "The woods can get dark quickly."
"Don't worry," I grin. "I'll outrun anything that tries to eat me."
The woods just outside our neighborhood have always been my go-to spot — quiet, peaceful, and perfect for clearing my head and exercising. As I jog down the familiar path, the cool evening air greets me. I pick up my pace, letting my muscles warm up.
Halfway in, the wind picks up. The air feels colder now, biting at my skin. But I shake it off and keep moving, my breaths coming quicker. The path ahead curves sharply, vanishing behind a wall of trees.
And that's when I see them.
Two glowing green eyes. They're vibrant, almost electric, and radiating from the shadows.
I skid to a stop, and my heart slams against my ribs as I stare into the growing darkness.
The eyes blink once, then twice, and the shape behind them moves. A massive figure steps into the faint light, and my breath hitches.
It's a wolf.
But not a normal wolf. It's five times bigger than your average wolf. Its fur is deep crimson, like dried blood, and thick enough to look almost like a mane. I freeze in fear.
I've never seen a wolf like it before.
I know I should turn around. Run back home. Be smart. But I notice it's... whimpering. So instead of running back to mum, my feet start moving forward.
ns18.191.176.192da2
